


what do you know? (this house is falling apart.)

by midwestwind



Series: let's be alone together [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Prequel, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/midwestwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan is twenty-one and, frankly, hanging by a thread. She has three things to her name; a prison record, a (stolen) yellow Bug, and a (also stolen) swan keychain necklace.</p><p>Enter one Killian Jones.</p><p>(the prequel to just swear you'll stay (right by my side).)</p>
            </blockquote>





	what do you know? (this house is falling apart.)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, first thing's first - this is not a happy story. if you /have/ read just swear you'll stay, you know where these dumb kids are at at the beginning of that story. if you /haven't/, i'd suggest reading it after this one to lighten the blow. i don't think of my writing as terribly impactful, but i did make a friend cry with this. so, you know, fair warning. this is SUPER ANGST. thanks to bluestoplights for putting up with me and just generally being the best person ever and helping me through the smut in this bc i am a whiny baby who hates everything she writes.
> 
> despite all that, i hope you guys enjoy this!!

Emma Swan is twenty-one and, frankly, hanging by a thread. She has three things to her name; a prison record, a (stolen) yellow Bug, and a (also stolen) swan keychain necklace. The Bug is her home and she keeps it parked in the alley next to the bar she works at. The owner had cut her a break, knowing her situation. Emma thinks maybe her desperation had just made her seem like that much more of a determined worker. Whatever it was, she can’t really afford to lose the job at the moment.

 

The gross fratboy offering her compensation in forms other than monetary is really testing her resolve, though.

 

Between him and his _bros_ , he’s racked up quite the tab and, rather than tip Emma for her false smiles and unspilled drinks, he thinks she’s interested in ditching work for a quicky. God, she could puke right on his bright orange basketball sneakers. He probably thinks they make him look - honestly, she’s nauseated - _street_ or something. His pale blue polo and boy band haircut ruin any possible effect.

 

He sways a little more into Emma’s space, despite her unquestionable disgust at his offer, and she’s about to tell him exactly where he can stick his - almost certainly tiny - dick, shitty job be damned.

 

That’s when the guy from the end of the bar steps in. Emma hadn’t been serving him, but she remembers his drink of choice was rum. That, and she’d caught his gaze on her more than once as she moved about the bar. It’s not unusual, she’s objectively pretty and serves the alcohol. Men are bound to falsely endear themselves to her. This one, though, had crossed all the way from the other side of the bar to insert himself into the situation. Emma can decide if she’s annoyed or grateful. Annoyed is more comfortable territory.

 

“How about you just pay the lass and let her do her job?” He suggests, words accented heavily, as he inserts himself into the small gap between Emma and the trust fund brat. _Chad_ , as Emma is officially going to refer to him, does not appreciate the intrusion on what he probably thinks is mad game.

 

“Hey, man, we were having a conversation here, alright?” Chad responds, puffing his chest up a bit. The new arrival seems unaffected. “Besides, what are you gonna do anyway, _guyliner_?”

 

Emma rolls her eyes at the attempt at insult. Truly the last stand of the bully - gender attacks. Seriously, the mozzarella sticks she pilfered earlier? They’re trying to make a reappearance. Chad is _that_ level of disgusting. The other man tilts his head to the side, as if considering the insult as well, and then his left arm comes up in a quick punch to Chad’s jaw. It’s enough to send him sprawling to the floor and Emma has to bite back a laugh at the sight.

 

“Hey, asshole,” Emma grins, pushing past rum guy to assert her position as Chad scrambles back to his feet. His buddies are still crowded behind him, watching the show without offering a hand. Chad shoots Emma a dirty look and she motions back towards the bar. “Smile.”

 

Chad looks back at the bar, confused, and is momentarily surprised by the flash of a camera. The bartender, Mulan, pulls the photo from the beat up Polaroid in her hands and waves it to dry the ink.

 

“The fuck was that, bitch?” Chad asks, chest puffing up again and returning to pushing himself into Emma’s face. There’s no flirtation in the movement this time, if that’s what it could have been called in the first place. It’s an aggressive move, an attempt to reassert the dominance he doesn’t realize he never had.

 

Emma doesn’t even flinch as she shrugs a shoulder at him. “Consider yourself banned. Now, get the fuck out.”

 

Chad flounders for a moment, doing a downright marvelous impression of a fish, before turning to go. Rum guy catches him by the arm before he can, pulling him back with a little more force than necessary. Emma frowns at him but he doesn’t spare her a glance.

 

“I believe you owe the lady a tip still, mate,” he growls. Chad glares at him for a long moment before wrenching his arm from the grasp. He tosses a couple bills haphazardly on the table and takes his leave.

 

“Well, he was a douche canoe,” Emma grumbles, scooping up the bills. Now that the group has left, the bar has returned to its original chaotic state.

 

“Colorful, but apt,” rum guy agrees, the corners of his lips ticking upwards. Emma still holds on to the kernel of annoyance, though. She’s not helpless and can take care of herself. Except tonight, she couldn’t have, actually. No matter what she had done, she would have been fucked.

 

“I suppose I owe you a drink,” Emma sighs, begrudgingly. She doesn’t wait for him to respond as she clears up the empty glasses and heads back towards the bar. He follows after her, stopping at his previous seat as Emma circles behind the bar.

 

“How about a name instead?” He asks once she’s placed the glasses in the sink and come to stand across from him. Emma raises an eyebrow at him, reaching for his empty glass.

 

“How about just the drink?” She insists. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter either way. He tells Emma his order and she moves to refresh the drink for him. Mulan catches her attention to point her towards a table of new customers. Emma nods in acknowledgement and slides rum guy’s drink in front of him. She continues past him, rushing to take the new tables drink orders. They order a round of specialty shots and Emma passes the order off to Mulan who is much better at the mix than she is.

 

“Here, love,” rum guy calls as she passes, grabbing her attention. There are a few bills on the counter and Emma frowns at him.

 

“I said it was on me,” she reminds him, but he shakes his head.

 

“All I did was be less of a, as you put, douche canoe than the other guy,” he insists. “Hardly calls for a free drink, I’d say.”

 

Emma wants to push harder, mostly just because she doesn’t want to feel like she owes him something. But, well, free drinks come out of her pocket at the end of the night. The less of those she gives out the better. Heaving a great put upon sigh, Emma takes the cash and rings the drink up, bringing back his change.

 

“Killian, by the way,” he says when she gets back. Emma stares at him in confusion. “Just because you don’t fancy giving me your name doesn’t mean I can’t give you mine.”

 

Emma considers him for a moment. She glances down the bar where Mulan has set her tray of shots aside, ready to go out to the table. Emma sighs and tilts her head at Killian.

 

“Enjoy your drink, Killian,” she says before heading down the bar to grab the tray and taking it to the table. She can feel his eyes on her as he follows her path. The night gets too busy and she doesn’t have the time to worry about Killian. He does spend most of the night in the seat, though, drinking their cheap rum like he’s trying to drink them dry.

 

She doesn’t seem him leave, though, and doesn’t like the sour feeling it leaves in her stomach. Emma catches Mulan picking up his empty glass and collecting the bills from underneath before placing it in the sink. She almost asks how long ago he left but, really, the answer wouldn’t matter and Emma doesn’t actually care anyway.

 

Getting her heart broken is not an excuse to romanticize every less-than-shitty person she comes across. That’s just a one-way ticket to getting her heart broken again.

 

The bar calms down around two in the morning. They finally close at three and Emma makes it back to her car by four, curling up in the backseat. Emma has been categorically homeless for years, metaphorically she’s pretty much been such her whole life. She’s an old veteran at it now. There’s a rec center two blocks from the bar that she showers at and she has a key to the bar so she can use the bathroom. She’s honestly been in worse situations.

 

There’s an apartment a few streets away that she’s been eyeing, though. It’s a shitty little thing but the rent is cheap and there’s an opening every few months. Emma just has to save up enough money from the bar to afford the first and last month's’ rent. It’s not that she has _no_ money, it’s just that she has _less_ money than most people. Mulan had offered once that Emma could stay with her while she saves up, but Emma had refused almost immediately. Mulan must have understood because she never brought up the offer again.

 

The bar leaves her exhausted most nights anyway and the tight space of the Bug hasn’t fazed Emma in years. The moment she gets curled up in the seats, she’s out like a light.

 

-/-

 

Emma’s worked at the bar for nearly a year now. Over that time, she’s had plenty of people introduce themselves to her with the intention of flirtation. Usually, she politely waves them off, but occasionally, when she’s feeling particularly lonely or horny or brazen, she’ll meet them outside for a sloppy make out.

 

It never really goes any farther than that. Emma likes to think it’s because she’s smarter than to actually hook up with customers. Really, it’s mostly that she’s scared.

 

Not that it matters. None of them have ever stuck in her mind beyond small details - the hot red head with the Led Zeppelin t-shirt, the guy with the unfortunate Pete Wentz haircut and surprisingly talented hands - and she actually never saw them again. Killian she had seen even less of and yet, intrigue had set in.

 

It’s so stupid, but she wants to know more.

 

It’s nearly a week before he wanders in again. Emma shows up, catching Mulan as she’s stripping out of the t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it. Emma helps her when her high ponytail gets caught on the collar.

 

“Whoa, what’s the rush?” Emma asks as Mulan stuffs the t-shirt into her bag and pulls out a deep red tank top. It compliments her skin tone and, frankly, makes her boobs look amazing. Emma raises an eyebrow. “Hot date?”

 

“Just a girl,” Mulan waves her off. Emma knows the tell, pretend it isn’t a big deal so your nerves don’t show. Whoever this “just a girl” is, she must be special if she’s got stoic Mulan all in a tizzy. “Dorothy is on tonight. Be nice, alright?”

 

“Nice is my middle name,” Emma offers with a false grin. Mulan shakes her head and gathers her things to head out the back. It’s not that Emma doesn’t like Dorothy, it’s just that she’s much more… effervescent than Mulan. She likes to chat and clearly wants to make friends, but Emma doesn’t need friends. She needs cash for that apartment and gas.

 

Emma is pulling her hair up into a ponytail when she enters the bar from the back room. Dorothy is standing at the end of the bar taking an order and Emma freezes. She doesn’t know if he notices the movement or what, but Killian glances over at her just for a second.

 

“Hey, Dorothy, I got this one,” she offers, a little gruffly, when she joins them. Dorothy gives her a surprised look but shrugs and heads down the bar to search for needed refills. Killian is smirking but Emma ignores him in favor of pulling out a glass and filling it with rum.

 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me, love,” he says. He’s more smug when he’s sober, apparently, and Emma frowns.

 

“You’re the one who came back to my bar,” she points out as she returns the bottle to the shelf. It’s not quite happy hour yet and the bar isn’t booming. It will be relatively soon, though, and Emma won’t have time to stand here and small talk with Killian.

 

She’ll take her opportunities where they arise.

 

“ _Your_ bar?” Killian questions with a smirk. Emma rolls her eyes, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the bar across from him. He tracks the movement as the space between them shrinks some.

 

“You know what I mean,” she shrugs, resting her chin in one of her palms. She doesn’t miss the way Killian’s eyes dart to her lips. He lifts his rum and tips it back for a long drag. Emma watches his throat work. He sets the glass down on the bar, the thud of it breaking through her haze.

 

“Aye, but I was never denying the attraction,” he comments. Emma knows he didn’t miss her gaze, his eyes are darker than they were a few moments ago. Attraction is a good enough way to put it, she supposes.

 

“Never said I was denying it,” Emma offers, dragging one of her fingers over a scratch in the wood. Killian’s eyes follow the movement before returning to hers. “But if I went around offering my name to everyone I found attractive…”

 

“You’d lose your mystery,” Killian finishes for her, another smirk tilting his lips. Emma returns it with one of her own. Killian doesn’t even falter. “Don’t suppose you’re more inclined to offer your name now, then?”

 

Emma pretends to contemplate this, lifting her free hand to tap at her lower lip with her index finger. The gesture draws Killian’s eyes back to her mouth and she catches his tongue dart out to wet his own lips. She wonders vaguely if the rest of the bar is aware of the scene they make.

 

“That depends,” she says finally, pushing away from the bar to stand up straight once again. Killian starts in surprise at the sudden distance and frowns in confusion at her.

 

“On what?” He inquires, fingers wrapping around his glass. Emma watches as he flexes the digits before settling them against the cool glass.

 

“On whether you’ll still be here when I take my break or not,” she shrugs. The dark bar fills with light as the front door opens. A few men trickle in, grabbing a table towards the middle of the room. Emma offers Killian a wink before rounding the bar to greet the table and take their drink orders.

 

The rush starts and Emma doesn’t have much more time to tease Killian. She refills his glass a few times when Dorothy is too busy at the bar, but doesn’t get to stick around. He drinks like a man with something to forget and she can relate to that. She’s not interested in kinship, but it makes her linger around his seat as much as she’s able anyway.

 

It’s a while before she actually gets a moment for her fifteen minute break. She’s taking it earlier than she normally would, but Dorothy suggests it. Emma wonders if she knows exactly what Emma is intending to spend those fifteen minutes on. Killian is still sitting in his seat at the end of the bar and Emma manages a quiet _meet me outside_ as she passes by him before slipping into the backroom. She slips on her leather jacket and takes a moment to smooth out her ponytail.

 

Killian is leaning against the brick of the building when she gets outside. Apparently not one to miss a hint, he’d forgone any waiting for her and headed right to the back where the employee entrance lets out. He’s got his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and looks up as the door opens.

 

“Romantic spot,” he comments dryly. Emma raises an eyebrow.

 

“Didn’t take you for a romantic,” she retorts, coming to stand in front of him. He pushes off the wall to stand straight in front of her, pulling his hands from his pockets.

 

“Well, a man likes to be wooed every now and again,” he shrugs. His hands come forwards to toy with the ends of her jacket and Emma steps further into his space.

 

“Well, I’ve got fifteen minutes. So, you can be wooed or you can make out with me,” she tells him. Killian’s grip goes tight on her jacket and he sways towards her.

 

“Not a hard choice, darling,” he responds in a low tone. He tugs at her coat rotating them so Emma is the one with her back to the wall. “But I still usually try to know the names of the women I kiss.”

 

Emma gives a great huff of annoyance. It’s only half authentic but, really, she’s gotten away with not offering a name before. Why does Killian have to make this difficult?

 

“Emma Swan,” she offers begrudgingly. “Now, stop talking.”

 

Her own hands come up to find purchase on the lapels of his coat, tugging him towards her. The crash is chaotic when his lips meet hers. He tastes like the bar’s cheap rum and something else, peppermint or spearmint, one of those toothpaste flavors. Emma bites down on his lower lip and Killian groans in response. He retaliates by inserting one of his legs between hers, grinding his thigh up against her pelvis. Emma gasps against his mouth, parting from him as her head falls back against the brick.

 

“Alright there, Swan?” He asks, the words teasing and smug as he murmurs them next to her ear. His hands stall at her ribcage, dancing tantalizingly close to her breasts. His thumbs run back and forth over the sensitive skin.

 

“Bastard,” she groans, grinding down against his leg. Killian’s teeth scrape against the skin of her neck, bite down lightly at her earlobe. Emma moves her hips forward and Killian’s breath catches when her hips connect with his own. “Two can play at that game.”

 

Her own mouth descends upon his throat, working on leaving a nice mark at the juncture of his collarbone. Killian’s hands abandon their station under her breasts to travel down to her ass. He kneads it gently before guiding her hips forward to connect with his own. Emma licks a hot stripe across the skin exposed by his shirt before tangling her hands in his hair. She drags his mouth back to hers and Killian happily obliges.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Killian groans between kisses, when Emma has pulled away once more to nibble at the sharp edge of his jaw. She smirks against his skin.

 

“No time for that, I’m afraid,” she teases. Killian lets out a huff of surprise or annoyance - maybe both. One of his hands tangles itself in her hair, fingers stroking her scalp. Emma knows she’ll have to cut this affair short if she doesn’t want to look thoroughly hot and bothered when she returns to work.

 

“Next time perhaps,” Killian responds. Emma doesn’t give him a reaction other than catching his mouth again. The thing about these rendezvous is no matter how much Emma would like to lose herself in the physical closeness, she has to be aware of her time. She’s always been pretty good at keeping up with the passage of time. Her internal clock is telling her to wrap it up.

 

She indulges in one more kiss before she pushes Killian away from her. He backs off easily, looking a little dazed but not diving back in for more. Emma leans more against the bricks and attempts to catch her breath. Killian lifts a hand and scratches behind his ear.

 

“Time’s up, then?” He asks. Emma nods in response and Killian offers her a soft smile. Her chest tightens as he continues, “That was, uh.”

 

He seems to struggle to come up with an adjective. Emma supplies him with, “A one time thing.”

 

He blinks at the sharpness of her tone, but nods. There’s an understanding in the gesture that makes Emma have to look away from him. She runs a smoothing hand over her ponytail, finding more flyaways than she’d realized.

 

“I should get back,” she says, hooking her thumb towards the door. “Wait five minutes before you come back inside.”

 

Killian nods and Emma turns to tug open the heavy metal door. Before she can disappear through it, she hears his parting words.

 

“As you wish.”

 

Emma stalls as the door swings shut behind her. She cleans up in the employee bathroom before heading back to the front. Dorothy looks strung out and busy. Emma feels even worse for leaving her on her own and immediately starts picking up the slack. Killian slips inside at one point and orders one more drink. Emma doesn’t have to work to avoid him with how busy the bar has become and, before she can worry about it, he’s paid his tab and left again.

 

-/-

 

It’s only a few days this time before he shows up again. Emma is stressed out and tired and Killian comes in an hour before her shift ends. Dorothy must have been trading gossip because Mulan gives her a look when she notices him. Emma avoids her eye but stares at him from the other end of the bar as Mulan takes his drink order.

 

Later, she’ll blame her trying day for the downright crazy decision she makes.

 

“So, you must really like cheap rum,” she comments as she comes to stand across from him at the bar. It’s twenty minutes yet until her shift ends but she figures it’s enough time for him to make a decision. Killian looks up in surprise at the comment, or her sudden lack of avoidance, she’s not sure.

 

“Perhaps, I just enjoy the atmosphere,” he offers, catching onto what she’s asking. They have some regulars but they’re a shitty bar and most of them are older men already set in their ways. Emma raises an eyebrow at him. Killian smirks. “Or the company.”

 

Emma studies his face for a moment, the earnestness in the statement unnerves her for a moment. She starts to rethink her decision, but presses forward anyway. She leans across the bar towards him.

 

“You live around here?” she asks, dragging her finger through a leftover water stain in front of the booth next to him. She can feel Killan’s eyes on her face as he studies her.

 

“Staying at a shitty little motel down the street, actually,” he explains. Emma doesn’t question how long he’s been at the hotel, nor how long he will be. She doesn’t really care. Killian seems to understand her reasoning for the line of questioning because he continues, “When does your shift end?”

 

“Twenty minutes,” Emma responds quietly, aware of the other patrons around them. Killian seems to consider her for a moment, his eyes flicking around her face. Emma refuses to squirm under the scrutiny, instead holding his gaze steadily when it finds her own again. She pushes up from the counter and glances down the bar at the empty glasses waiting to be refilled. She knows he doesn’t need an explanation when she adds, “let me know” before walking away.

 

By the time Emma’s shift mercifully comes to an end and Dorothy shows up to replace her, Killian is gone. He’d paid his tab and left a napkin with his hotel number on it. She could back out, she knows, and Killian probably wouldn’t even bring it up again. Emma is in such a distracted state when she leaves, she doesn’t even say goodbye to Mulan.

 

She changes into a tank top and a pair of jeans that smell less of spilled beer in her car. The napkin is crumpled in her fist and she sits in the driver's seat and stares at his absurdly neat penmanship.

 

“Jesus, fuck it,” she groans stuffing the napkin in her pocket and swinging the door open. He’s essentially a stranger, albeit a stranger with intimate knowledge of the inside of her mouth, and potentially she could be about to get straight up murdered.

 

But it’s also been a pathetically _long_ time and Emma is only human.

 

When Killian opens the door to his hotel room he actually looks mildly surprised that she’d shown up. Emma hesitates for a minute, taking in the messy state of his hair and the buttons undone on his shirt. It’s the first time she’s seen him considerably dressed down and, fuck, he’s even better like this.

 

“Surprised to see me?” She asks once she finds her voice again. It’s more confusion than flirtation, the opposite of what Emma had intended. Killian seems to shake himself out of whatever state he’d entered. This tank top does great things, she knows, but it’s hard to imagine it, being mostly covered by her leather jacket, had done that to him.

 

“I admit I wasn’t sure you were serious,” he explains. Killian waves her inside and Emma decides not to respond to that. She hadn’t exactly been sure she was serious either up until the moment she’d actually knocked at his door.

 

Emma tightens her jacket around herself as she passes Killian. This whole thing still reeks of bad idea, but she’s already made her decision. She’s not concerned that she couldn’t leave if she needed to, she’s pretty confident she could take Killian. It’s more that, despite the fact that this is actually the stupidest thing she’s done in years, she still _wants_ to do it.

 

She hears the door click closed behind her and carefully sheds her jacket. She looks around the room and eventually Killian takes it from her, tossing it on a chair in the corner. Then he crowds her back against the door, mouth hungry and insistent on hers. Emma’s happy to pass up any awkward small talk or pretending this isn’t exactly what it is. She tangles her hands in his hair and Killian’s slide slowly down her curves before coming around to cup her ass.

 

“You sure?” He asks, pulling away suddenly. Emma chases his mouth, breath coming quick. Killian is in a similar state but he manages to catch her gaze and Emma can see the concern there. He hadn’t exactly started this on the gentlest note and she realizes he’s now wondering if that were the wrong move.

 

But Emma isn’t porcelain and she’s tired of feeling like such. She spent so much time broken and feeling like a piece of fragile china, chipped and cracked. She’d healed herself, sewing her cracks back together with melted gold. Stronger now than she had been. No, Emma isn’t something fragile to be handled with gloves, she’s steel and titanium surrounded by brick walls. She has no intention of being hurt again.

 

So, she gives Killian a grin, something a little wicked and pulls on his hair. He complies, returning for another heady kiss. Emma feels a little dazed when she pulls away from him this time.

 

“I’m sure,” she assures him. It’s all Killian needs as he presses her back against the door a little harder, his body pressing against hers. One of his hands comes up to cup her jaw, tilting her head upwards to allow him better access to the skin of her throat. Emma gasps as his teeth scrape against her skin. His leg edges it’s way in between her own again and Emma’s hips respond on their own, grinding down against his leg and seeking friction.

 

Killian’s mouth reaches the neckline of her tank top and his tongue comes out to lick a path along the edge of it. Emma gasps at the sudden sensation, pressing down a little more against his thigh. Impatiently, she removes her hands from his hair and pushes Killian back. He stares at her a little confused but retracts his hands immediately. Emma crosses her arms over her body and lifts her tank top over her head. Killian finally understands the cue and helps her ease it over her head, her curls falling into a tangle around her face.

 

Her tank top falls to the floor but Killian keeps his distance for a moment, eyes roaming the exposed skin before returning to her face. Emma pushes her hair away from her face and he gives her a gentle smile. It’s a little too soft for what they’re trying to do, so Emma reaches forward and takes hold of his collar to pull him back towards her. He moves forwards easily, hands coming around her to land on her bare back. His fingers trail up and down her spine, causing shivers and creating goosebumps.

 

Emma pulls away from his kiss to locate the buttons on his shirt. Killian ducks his head down to suck a mark into the exposed skin above the cup of her bra. Emma’s breathing becomes a little heavier and her hands shake as she tries to slip the buttons of his shirt out of their corresponding slots. One hand comes back from around her to cup her other breast, thumb stroking over her nipple through the fabric of her bra.

 

A little triumphantly, Emma finally pushes his shirt off of his shoulders. She runs her hands down the planes of his chest, nails scraping through the coarse hair until she reaches the waistband of his pants. Killian’s chest is moving up and down heavily now and Emma can’t help but feel a little smug at the effect. He noses the fabric of her bra aside and takes her breast in his mouth just as Emma flicks open the button on his pants. Her fingers fumble slightly as she tugs the zipper down, Killian’s tongue flicking over the hard peak of her nipple.

 

Killian groans against her skin as Emma’s hand slips past his boxers and takes hold of him. He straightens suddenly, catching her mouth in a rough kiss that makes the back of her head connect with the door. Killian must realize this because one of his hands comes up to insert itself between the door and her head, cradling the back of her skull. He pulls away from her mouth as her hand pumps his cock.

 

“Perhaps we should move this to the bed?” Killian suggests and Emma nods, pushing him back towards the bed with her free hand. She pulls her hand from his pants when he turns them around to sit her down on the bed. He drops to his knees in front of her, hands working at the button on her jeans with a questioning glance. Emma drops back onto the bed and unbuttons her jeans herself in lieu of an answer.

 

Killian removes the garment painstakingly slowly and Emma presses a hand over her eyes as his hands glide down her thighs. She wonders if it’s worth fretting over what underwear she’d put on before work today. She thinks they’re peach colored, the ones with the little hole in the seam. It’s not like she’s dropping the money on anything nicer than Walmart brand. She has a car to upkeep and an apartment to rent. Killian can get the fuck over it.

 

Not that he comments as he travels back up her body, once her jeans have been discarded somewhere else in the room. He kisses slowly up the inside of her thighs, his beard scratching across her skin. Emma squirms as he nears the juncture of her thighs. He chuckles as he plants his hands on her hips to hold her still and noses at her clit through the cotton of her underwear. It’s a touch of friction but not enough and she can tell he’s doing it on purpose.

 

“Bastard,” she huffs. Killian presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” He teases and Emma considers how easy it would be to jerk her hips up and catch his nose in this position. Except, she really wants him to eat her out and breaking his nose with her pelvic bone might stall that.

 

“Jesus,” she hisses, squirming again under his touch. Killian pushes her underwear to the side and strokes her clit with his thumb. “If I’d known you were gonna be such a dick about it.”

 

At the end of her sentence, Killian suddenly slips one finger inside of her and Emma lets out a surprised whimper. When she sits up on her elbows, he’s watching her with a smug smirk. She does kick out with her foot this time, catching him in the shin and earning a laugh for her trouble.

 

“Careful there, darling, a little more to the left and you’ll have me out of commission for the evening,” he jokes and Emma shrugs, squirming as he slides another finger into her. She has every intention of firing back with what she’s positive would be an extremely witty comment, but he’s moving his fingers in and out of her and ducks his head to lave his tongue over her clit. Words fail her as she drops back onto the bed again, the comforter billowing around her.

 

Killian’s movements become faster as he fucks her with his fingers, his tongue putting pressure on her clit, and Emma begins to squirm again. Her hands fist in the blankets around her and she resists the urge to buck her hips for fear of actually injuring Killian.

 

“That’s it, Emma,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over her skin. Emma gasps at the sensations taking over her body, the heat forming in her stomach. Killian continues to help her climb closer and closer to the edge. “Come for me, love.”

 

He presses his thumb down against her clit and Emma’s hips raise of their own accord, the heat pooling in her belly breaking and running through her limbs. She closes her eyes tightly as Killian’s fingers work her slowly through the orgasm. She pants loudly into the quiet room and Killian removes his fingers to climb back up her body. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, her wetness glinting in his beard, and kisses her gently.

 

Emma’s limbs feel a little wobbly but she manages to tangle one hand in his hair, holding his lips to hers as her heart slows its pounding against her ribcage.

 

“Fuck,” she breathes, unable to contain the grin once he pulls away. After so long with only her own hands to sate her, anyone else's were bound to feel amazing. Emma can’t help but feel like it’s got a lot to do with her choice of partner in this case, though.

 

“Yes, shall we?” Killian teases, still hovering over her. Emma rolls her eyes at the turn of phrase and leverages her leg around his waist to flip him over onto his back. His body complies with an _oomph_ as he hits the bed.

 

Emma takes control now, kissing him once firmly on the mouth before trailing her hands, followed closely by her mouth, down his body. Killian’s head falls backward as she circles his nipple with her tongue. Her hand dances teasingly along the edge of his boxers, cupping the hard ridge of his erection, before she lowers herself further down the bed to push his pants and boxers down his thighs. Killian helps her, kicking his legs to dispose of the clothes faster.

 

Emma’s fingers glide back up his thighs, taking him in hand and pumping her hand up and down. Killian groans, his hips shifting under her ministrations. Emma lowers her mouth towards his cock, lips ghosting over the tip. Killian grunts and sits up suddenly, grabbing hold of her arm. She looks up at him in surprise.

 

“Uh, best not to do that, love,” he says, voice strained and Emma frowns.

 

“You don’t want me to?” She asks, confused. Her fingers tighten incrementally around his length and Killian groans again, eyes rolling back into his head for a second. Emma bites her lip to contain her smirk.

 

“Oh, I _want_ you to, believe me,” he huffs out. His pupils are blown wide, Emma can see now, and his muscles are tight as he strains to control himself. “I’m just not sure how well I’ll be able to control myself, to be honest with you. You’re testing my resolve, here.”

 

Emma hums in response, releasing him as Killian guides her back up his body. It’s probably for the best, really, because she didn’t ask him if he’s clean and, even if she had, there’s no reason for her to believe him. She hovers over him, leaning down to catch his mouth. She feels one of Killian’s hands drag languidly up her back, stopping at the catch of her bra.

 

“I’m afraid you’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage here, Swan,” he comments between kisses, flicking the clasp open. Her bra goes loose on her shoulders before sliding down her arms. Killian helps her remove it fully, tossing it aside.

 

He flips them then, his eyes caught on the newly exposed skin of her breasts. He balances himself above her with one arm while his other hand comes up to meet her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple. His mouth descends again on the other one and Emma can feel the heat pooling low in her belly again. She shifts her thighs against one another and Killian, feeling the movement, moves his hand from her breast to slip underneath her underwear. He presses his thumb to her clit and Emma jerks against him.

 

“Fuck, Killian,” she groans. She can feel his erection, hard and warm, against her stomach and she wants him inside of her. “Condom?”

 

He stills for a moment and Emma thinks he might tell her he doesn’t have one. If that’s the case, she may just cry from frustration. There is no way she’s letting him inside of her without protection. Fool her once.

 

“Shit, uh, where did my pants go?” He says, fumbling a bit as he lifts himself off of her. Emma raises an eyebrow at the suddenly frenzied and jerky movements as he pulls his wallet from his pants. What happened to the sex god telling her to come for him?

 

“Are you okay?” She asks, sitting up and resting her weight on her elbows. Killian raises an eyebrow at her as he pulls the foil packet from his wallet. “I mean, if you’re not- if you don’t want to do this, that’s cool.”

 

“No, no, that’s not-” Killian huffs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. Emma is reminded suddenly of how painfully naked they both are, her even less than him. If he changes his mind it’ll definitely suck for the orgasm she was hoping for, but it’s not that big of a deal. “I confess, love, it’s been a while.”

 

Emma huffs out a dark chuckle and runs a hand through her hair. She ducks her head to do so, catching sight of the bruise already forming on the top of her breast from his mouth. If this is about to go south, that is so not a reminder she’ll need in the shower tomorrow.

 

“You too, huh?” She asks and Killian raises an eyebrow in surprise. Emma shrugs. “You can change your mind if you want. Otherwise, I’d say we’ve both been doing pretty fantastic so far.”

 

Killian lets out a surprised laugh and grins at her. He nods at her, leaning over her to kiss her again and Emma’s pretty sure one night stands aren’t supposed to be this… _soft_. Still, if it helps him, she can curl her hand in his hair and press her lips against his. She feels his hand glide down her side, reaching the waistband of her underwear and easing them downwards. Emma lifts her hips to help him remove them, taking the foil packet from his other hand.

 

He pulls her underwear the rest of the way down her legs while she rips open the packaging. Killian watches her as she fishes the condom out and reaches for him. His eyelids flutter as she rolls it down over his cock in gentle strokes. He guides her backwards on the bed, his lips descending on hers.

 

“Gods above, Swan,” he murmurs against her lips, eyes clenched shut. Emma watches the way the muscle in his jaw ticks, fascinated by the movement. “I think you’re either an angel or a siren.”

 

“For both our souls, I hope I’m not an angel,” she smirks, grinding her hips upwards against his cock. Killian groans and it rumbles through his chest as the spike of heat from the friction she’d created climbs up hers. Killian makes a comment about how wet she is, giving her a questioning look and waiting for her nod before finally sliding inside of her.

 

Emma gasps at the change and Killian’s head falls against her shoulder as they both adjust. He kisses her neck, sucking on it before Emma comes to her senses and bats him away. She doesn’t need hickeys all over her for Mulan and Dorothy to gossip about. She jerks her hips in attempt to get him moving and Killian lets out a breath that fans across her skin before he begins moving his hips.

 

“Y’alright, Swan?” He asks at one point, once he’s picked up his speed and Emma’s nails are absolutely going to leave marks on his back. Her eyes are clenched shut and she’s so close but the edge is alluding her. She nods in response, unconvinced she can make her voice work as his hips snap against hers.

 

Killian shifts above her and his hand moves down her stomach, stopping where their bodies meet. He presses his thumb against her clit, the pressure making her hips jerk upwards a little off timing with the movement of his. He flicks his thumb over the swollen nub and Emma gasps as the heat builds. Killian’s thrusts are becoming a little erratic and she doubts he’ll last much longer either.

 

Killian comes a few seconds after Emma does. She’s trying to catch her breathe from a substantially well done orgasm when he lowers his weight onto her. He’s hot and sweaty, sticking against her own skin. Emma lets out a breathless laugh before shoving him off of her. He flops dramatically onto the bed next to her. After a moment, only the sounds of their breathing filling the room, Killian ties off the condom and tosses it towards the trash can.

 

“That was,” Emma says finally, her arm coming up to cover her eyes. Her already tangled curls are even more of a mess, sticking out around her and irritating the skin of her neck. Killian’s hand brushes some of them aside, surprising her.

 

“A one time thing?” He questions quietly. She figures it was meant to be teasing, a sarcastic repetition of her earlier attempt at keeping him away. Instead, it’s earnest enough that Emma moves her arm enough to peer out at him from one eye.

 

“That depends,” she says slowly. “If I say yes, are you still gonna come to the bar?”

 

Killian grins, leaning further towards her. He tugs her arm away from her face and kisses her once more. Maybe for good measure but Emma thinks the easy affection is something that comes naturally to him. She’s not sure what to do about that.

 

“How else would I make sure you don’t forget me?” He asks, earning another laugh from her. Emma groans and pulls away from him, annoyed at herself a bit for being endeared by him. Letting this become a regular thing is dangerous and Emma isn’t interested in getting attached. She glances around the hotel room, reminds herself that he’s clearly temporary regardless.

 

“You should know, I’m more of a one night stand kind of girl,” she sighs, giving in to both him and herself. “You’re gonna have to work much harder next time.”

 

When she glances back over at him Killian has shifted onto his back again, grinning up at the ceiling. Emma frowns at him.

 

“I love a challenge,” he says easily. Emma sighs because she doesn’t doubt that.

 

-/-

 

Emma has every intention of making it harder for him. She doesn’t want him to think he can just waltz into the bar at all hours and find her wanting and ready. She’s not a damsel to be whisked away from her responsibilities at any moment. Killian doesn’t really seem to expect that, at least, the next time he shows up at the bar a mere two days later.

 

The thing about being a bartender is that after a year you learn to read people by their drinking habits. The whole comparison to therapists is bullshit, but habitual drinkers are easier to read once you’ve spent time around enough of them.

 

The girls who seem no younger than Emma who come in with their friends once a week to drink mixed shots and giggle as they choke down each one - university kids still getting used to their newly minted not-fake IDs. The habitual beer drinkers in nice ties and crinkled work shirts who show up every day right at 5pm - blue collar workers who hate their job or their wives or whatever else people with two car garages and a cushy retirement funds complain about.

 

Killian, though, he’s a rum drinker. He can knock it back like no one she’s ever seen at his age. Twenty-three is pretty early to be a hardened dark liquor drinker. Then again, they start younger in the UK, she thinks. It’s not so much the drink itself or even the ease with which he puts it away. It’s the way he drinks that tells her, his eyes go dark as he stares at the mirror behind the bar until he’s sick of his reflection enough that his gaze stays steadfast on his hands instead.

 

His left hand is scarred up in a faded way that makes it easy to gloss over. Emma had done just that, their first few times together. In her defense, she’d been preoccupied with other concerns. The first time she did notice it, Killian had had his tongue inside of her. His hands had clasped hers, pressing them down against the bed and giving Emma something to leverage herself with as he ate her out. She’d looked down at their joined hands and registered the scars for the first time. She hasn’t had the balls to ask him about them yet.

 

Killian drinks like a man with secret and Emma isn’t interested in learning why. Once a week or so, she meets him at his hotel room or he meets her behind the bar and they walk there together. He’s not her boyfriend and he’s not a one night stand anymore, either. Emma doesn’t want to define it beyond that. Temporary is the best she can come up with when Mulan asks.

 

He’s got a hotel room and Emma never asks how much longer he’ll be in town. It’s been weeks and she’s starting to understand that maybe he’s like her. Well, like her, but with enough money to pay 45 bucks a night to stay in a shitty hotel. Honestly, she thinks her car is cleaner, but whatever. It doesn’t scream _make a home out of me_ and Emma thinks maybe that’s an appeal. She’s not interested in making homes out of people anymore.

 

She meets him at the motel and Killian presses her down into the bed, kisses her like a drowning man searching for air. Emma wonders vaguely if he is and, more importantly, if he’s hoping she’ll save him. The notion makes her stomach clench, but Killian moves from her mouth to kiss down her neck and Emma forgets it all together.

 

It’s been long enough that sometimes Emma sticks around for a while after, dozes in the shitty bed because it’s still more comfortable than her backseat. She hasn’t told Killian about her living situation yet. Not out of shame or anything, but she knows him well enough to know he’d insist on taking her in like a broken bird. Emma doesn’t want him to try to save her, either.

 

There’s something in the air tonight, Killian is tense about something and Emma wonders if this is it. She steels herself for the end, he’s leaving soon or tomorrow or whatever. She thinks she’s actually weirdly okay with it. She’d hardly call herself attached yet and the loss won’t end her the way others have. Her hand moves unconsciously to rest on her stomach.

 

“Swan,” he starts, eventually. It’s hesitant and makes Emma roll towards him so they’re nearly nose to nose on the bed. She hums in response and, after a beat, Killian continues, “Will you let me take you on a date?”

 

Emma swallows and focuses on where his eyeliner has smudged at the corner of his eye. It’s been a while, for a pretty damned good reason. She doesn’t really fancy herself much of a dater anymore, if she ever was to begin with. A free meal that isn’t from the bar might be nice, if she’s honest. Plus, this thing with Killian is different, she knows. Emma has no delusions about where it’s going. There isn’t a future, there’s only a present.

 

And, well, she’s sure as hell tired of living in the past.

 

“Hm, I suppose you can,” she agrees finally. Killian’s breath leaves him in a rush, fanning over her skin. She kicks him lightly in the shin under the sheets, a teasing lilt to her voice. “If you think you can impress me.”

 

-/-

 

Impress might not be the word for their date. Killian takes a few days to plan it but, eventually, he gives her a settled date. When he asks where to pick her up, Emma insists they meet at the bar. Killian makes a teasing joke about her not trusting him with her address and she avoids his eye as she drags a cloth over the watermarks on the bar.

 

“What are we doing, anyway?” Emma asks, once the moment has passed and she feels secure that Killian won’t press her. He grins, though, and Emma immediately feels assured that he isn’t going to dwell on it.

 

“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it, Swan?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice that makes his accent just a little thicker. Emma rolls her eyes and swats at him with the towel. Killian raps on the wood with his knuckles, wishing her a good shift before he leaves.

 

It takes Emma a moment to realize he’d come all the way down to the bar to inform her of their plans without ordering anything.

 

She meets him outside the bar the next night. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon and it’s set the sky into the colors of a forest fire, all oranges and reds and blinding whites. The buildings are black shapes against it and it reminds Emma of why she likes the city. She’s lived in rural areas, even on a farm at one point, and it’s nice. But there’s something about the tall buildings against the sunset that feels right to her.

 

New York is a shitty place to be homeless, but it’s a nice enough place to be invisible.

 

Killian comes trotting up with an extra spring in his step and Emma raises an eyebrow. She’s trying to keep her expectations low for the night, honestly she’d be happy with mediocre pizza and a few orgasms at his motel. But Killian, clearly, has bigger things in mind. There’s a woven basket dangling from his fingers and Emma frowns at it.

 

“Is that a picnic basket?” She demands, attempting to get a better look. Killian tuts at her and hides it a little further behind himself, but not quite out of sight. “Who _are_ you?”

 

He ignores the question as he wraps his free arm around her waist and guides her down the sidewalk. Emma realizes they’ll be walking wherever he’s intending to take her and is suddenly glad she’d decided to wear the comfy boots instead of the heeled ones that make her ass look great. On instinct, her own arm comes around Killian in return.

 

“When we first met, there was talk of wooing, if I remember correctly,” he begins earning a snort from Emma. He gives her a look but continues, nonetheless. “If you won’t do it, then I suppose it falls upon my shoulders to provide proper courtship.”

 

“I’m not interested in being courted,” Emma tells him dryly. Killian shrugs, his hand shifting on her back dragging the end of her coat up slightly and allowing the cool air to hit her skin for a second before it drops again.

 

“If you hate it, we’ll never do it again,” he responds easily. “You have my word.”

 

“Fine,” Emma sighs dramatically. “I suppose we can try it, but I’m warning you I’m a hard person to impress.”

 

“Oh, I am well aware of that, darling,” he smirks.

 

It’s not a far walk, it turns out, and Emma realizes where they’re headed as soon as the smell of the docks assaults her nose. And, she does mean assaults. The salt air isn’t bad, but mixed with the smell of dead fish and seagull shit it’s not exactly the most romantic place to be _wooed_ , as Killian says.

 

He doesn’t even falter, though, raising about a million questions in Emma’s mind. He continues guiding her easily towards one of the specific marina docks. There are a few rows of boats lined up, nothing too specifically fancy but better than the one time one of her foster families took her canoeing. Killian continues towards one, stepping onto it with a grand sweeping motion while Emma hovers back away from the water.

 

“Don’t be shy, Swan, step aboard,” he grins broadly, setting the basket down to offer a hand to her. Emma eyes him warily but lets him help her onto the deck.

 

“You have a boat?” She questions. Killian hesitates for a beat, making Emma narrow her eyes at him. He turns to open the basket.

 

“Aye,” he responds, pulling a bottle of champagne from the basket. It’s a cheap brand that Emma recognizes from the bar but she smirks at the gesture regardless. “I thought we’d take her to the open sea, enjoy the last dregs of sunset and a meal.”

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, shaking her head. “I’m still stuck on _you have a boat_.”

 

Killian heaves a great sigh and returns the champagne to the basket. He turns to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye. There’s a glint there that gives away his amusement.

 

“I have a boat,” he assures her. It’s a lie, she can tell, which mostly bugs Emma because she’s standing on the proof. “Now, shall we shove off and begin our voyage? Or would you like to dwell on the obvious a bit longer?”

 

“You’re not so great at this whole wooing thing, smartass,” she comments, shoving at his arm. Killian laughs, stumbling backwards at the force.

 

“I have to tailor my approach to your dry sense of humor, love,” he informs her, ducking forward to kiss her quickly before heading towards the front of the boat. He digs a key out of his pocket and starts the engine. “Mind untying the ropes there, Swan?”

 

Emma turns in the direction of where he’s pointing and nods. She leans over the boat, cautiously aware of how cold the water would be this late in the fall, and unties the ropes from the dock. She drops them on the deck and gives Killian a thumbs up. He eases the boat away from the dock and out into open waters.

 

“I can’t believe you know how to drive a boat,” she comments, coming to join him at the front. Killian offers her a grin and tugs her towards him. Emma stumbles a bit as the rocking of the boat unbalances her and wraps her arm around Killian’s waist to catch herself.

 

“Would you like to learn?” He asks, removing one hand from the wheel to offer it to her. Emma shakes her head.

 

“No, uh, we’ll be lucky if we don’t find out that I have a tendency for seasickness this trip,” she says, backing away a bit. Killian nods and returns his hand to the wheel and Emma loops her index finger through one of his belt loops. “So, how far out do we go before we can eat? I’m starving.”

 

“Not too far,” Killian shrugs. “I was hoping to get far enough away from the light polution of the city, is all.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Emma admits. Killian smiles softly at the sentiment and leans into her a bit where she’s still mostly wrapped around him. She presses her forehead against his shoulder and attempts to get used to the feeling of the water beneath her.

 

“If you begin to feel ill, of course, we’ll turn back,” Killian assures her and Emma looks up to find him watching her with concern. She smiles in reassurance and shakes her head. “Let me know if it becomes the case.”

 

They don’t actually go very far but the sun is nearly completely gone from the sky by the time they stop, only the last flecks of pink and purple peeking over the seemingly endless ocean. They sit down to eat, Killian had snagged grilled cheese for them from a diner that Emma recognizes the logo of, and her body gets used to the rocking of the boat. Killian only nurses a half a flute of champagne and refuses any more.

 

“Shouldn’t drink and sail, Swan,” he says when she offers. Emma shrugs and refills her own glass, one of them might as well get the fun kind of buzz the bubbly drink offers.

 

They toss the garbage and leftovers back in the basket and Killian tugs Emma down onto the deck to lay next to him. She looks up at the sky and can’t help the slightly amazed gasp at the sight above her. It’s been years since she’d seen so many stars, so brightly lit. The sunset in the city is amazing, but it’s got nothing on this. When she glances over at him, Killian is smiling softly at her and Emma returns her attention to the sky.

 

“So,” she starts, clearing her throat. “How did you learn to drive a boat, anyway?”

 

“My father taught my brother and I when we were wee lads, actually,” he explains. There’s a somber tone to his voice that keeps Emma from gently mimicking the way he says _wee lads_. “Only good thing he ever did for us, besides leave.”

 

Emma’s chest tightens at the admission. There it is again, that possible kinship she’d been avoiding since the start. Still, her tongue tastes like melted cheddar and champagne and it makes her lips loose.

 

“Yeah, well, leave is the only thing my parents ever did for me,” she admits quietly. Killian’s head turns to look at her and she can feel his gaze on the side of her face. She keeps her eyes studiously on the sky. “Good or bad.”

 

“They didn’t deserve you, then,” Killian says easily. Emma allows herself to meet his eyes, surprised at the sentiment. She had expected some lackluster condolences or an attempt to one up her maybe. “Their lives are worse off without you, I’m sure.”

 

“Can’t blame them,” Emma shrugs and Killian frowns. She’s thought about it a lot the past three years - Jesus, _three years_ \- and, if their situation had been anything like hers, they must have thought it was the right thing to do. The one thing that keeps her from shutting down in complete self-hatred is that at least she’d had the good sense to make sure her kid had a adopter first. “Sometimes kids are better off without their parents.”

 

Killian looks away from her, back up at the sky above them. Emma follows his gaze. She’s pretty sure she can see the little dipper above them, maybe the big dipper? She’d never taken any sort of astronomy classes so it’s hard for her to say.

 

“Perhaps,” Killian murmurs after a long time. He finds her hand and tangles his fingers through hers. Emma glances down at it and realizes it’s his left hand. She feels the question on the tip of her tongue, opens her mouth to ask it.

 

Instead, she’s momentarily blinding by a bright light. Her hand comes up to shield her eyes and Killian sits up, letting out a curse. Emma frowns at him. He doesn’t acknowledge her confusion, standing up. Emma does the same and finally catches sight of where the lights coming from. The vibrant orange of the ship is visible even in the dark. The person on board tips the fog light so it’s no longer right at Emma’s eye level and she can read the words on the side of the ship.

 

_U.S. Coast Guard_

 

She is gonna fucking kill Killian.

 

-/-

 

They spend the night in processing. Killian more so than Emma, but proving that you didn’t actually _know_ you were an accomplice to a crime is a difficult task. At least in this case, she honestly didn’t know she was part of some sort of grand theft boat and Killian had been pleading her case more than his own last time she saw him. It’s been a while, though, he could have changed his tune. Emma is desperately trying not to pass out in this uncomfortable interview room chair. She has no idea how long she’s been here now or what she’ll tell her boss if she’s late to work.

 

The door opens and Emma jerks to attention.

 

“You can go, Miss Swan,” a tired looking officer says as she holds the door open. Emma frowns but lifts herself out of the seat slowly. “You’ll have to sign some things at the front to get your stuff back, but your friend is insistent you didn’t know anything about this.”

 

“Um,” Emma responds eloquently.

 

The officer continues as if she hadn’t spoken, “A word of advice, though? With your record, you might want to consider being more careful who you associate with.”

 

Emma’s brow furrows as she continues past the officer through the open door. She doesn’t know where Killian is anymore, but she’s having trouble caring. She should have seen this coming. Some fucking romantic rendezvous. He better hope he ends up in jail, or she’s definitely going to murder him.

 

By the time she leaves the building, the sky is turning shades of light blue and purple and Emma’s whole body is tired. Not to mention she’s not even positive where she is.

 

“Fuck,” she sighs and heads down the sidewalk towards the street sign at the end. If she can just find out where she is right now, she can pretty easily figure out where she needs to go. The beauty of a grid system.

 

It takes her twenty minutes to get back to the bar and no time to pass out in her backseat. She’s gonna smell like salt water and champagne at work but there’s no time for a shower _and_ sleep, so she has to prioritize.

 

It actually isn’t until a few days later, as Emma is heading out of the bar after closing, that she sees Killian again. He’s waiting for her out back, leaning in the same spot he usually waits for her after her shifts. Emma sighs and decides her schedule is officially too routine if he knew she’d be working until close tonight. After kicking the stragglers out and cleaning everything up, it’s nearly 3am and all she wants to do is collapse into unconsciousness for a few hours.

 

“Swan,” he calls out as she tries to walk past him. He pushes off the wall to follow her and Emma groans because they’re only feet away from her car and she has nowhere else to even pretend to go. She spins on him, anger from the past few days sizzling inside of her.

 

“You’ve got some fucking brass balls showing up here,” she growls. To his credit, Killian has the decency to seem chagrined, his hand raises to scratch behind his ear in what Emma has come to learn is his tell of nervousness.

 

“I didn’t intend for that to happen,” he says quietly. “I truly didn’t think anyone would miss the boat for a few hours.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Emma asks. “That’s your defense? You didn’t think anyone would miss it? Jesus Christ, Killian, we got _arrested_. I have a fucking record, do you have any idea how much you could have screwed me over?”

 

“You never told me that,” Killian frowns, stepping towards her. Emma holds up a hand and he halts immediately, looking frustrated. Good, she thinks, let him feel a fraction of the annoyance and anger she’s been feeling.

 

“Why would I?” She responds tiredly. “It’s not exactly something I go around broadcasting. But I am not about to be someone’s fall girl again, so find someone else! I’m done.”

 

She turns away again only to be confronted by the sight of her bright yellow Bug. Damn her sentimental nature. She clutches at the keychain hanging at her throat and squeezes her eyes shut. Temporary, she reminds herself, this was always temporary.

 

“Emma,” Killian starts quietly after a moment, once Emma hasn’t fully stormed away. And she could, sort of. She could head back into the bar and wait him out. She could get in her car and drive around the block, although she doesn’t really want to waste the gas. She could just start walking. God help her, she kind of wants to hear what he has to say. “I’m sorry things went the way they did, I only hoped to steal a quiet moment with you not reliant on sex.”

 

Emma lets out a dark chuckle and turns halfway so she can watch him from the corner of her eye. He cringes at the poor word choice but doesn’t try to correct himself. She doesn’t know what to make of his admission, an interest in something beside physical intimacy. They’re not supposed to be more. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to be more than the hot guy she made out with behind the bar a month ago.

 

“Why?” She asks quietly, voice a bit more frail than she’d intended. Killian frowns, like he’s turning the words over in his head before he says them. It’s probably a good idea considering this conversation.

 

“My last dabble in matters of the heart has left me rather raw, I’m afraid,” he starts slowly. Emma frowns, turning her head to watch him fully. “It left me quite heartbroken, a state I think you can sympathize with.” He pauses for a moment, eyeing her carefully as if he hopes she might offer forth her own tale of woe. When it clear she isn’t going to, Killian continues, “You’re the first woman I’ve been with who actually manages to make me forget.”

 

Emma chews on her lower lip, the round edges of her keychain digging into the skin of her palms where she still clutches it tightly. She’d asked and now she has her answer. Now, she wishes she hadn’t asked.

 

“Killian, I’m not interested in saving anyone,” she starts, staring hard at the brick wall of the building behind the bar. “Whatever demons you have, they’re your own. I don’t need any more.”

 

“I’m not looking to be saved, love,” Killian shrugs, the movement grabbing Emma’s attention. She offers him a wary glance. He takes a cautious step forward, emboldened when she doesn’t stop him this time. “I’m only interested in being with you, as long as you’ll have me anyway.”

 

He doesn’t really deserve a second chance, Emma knows. The stunt had been more taxing than she’s willing to admit, too similar for her heart to take. He must know they can’t last just as well as she does. Like trying to put gasoline on a fire in the hopes of putting it out. All they’re going to make is a bigger mess.

 

“I need to get some sleep,” she says finally. Killian’s shoulders fall, but he nods as he takes a step back from her. Emma could leave it there, go their separate ways. She hates herself a little for not wanting to. So much for that self-preservation instinct. “But, uh, maybe I can come by tomorrow before my shift. To talk or…”

 

She trails off with a shrug. When she glances up to meet Killian’s eye, there’s a flicker of hope their that makes her drop his gaze. She doesn’t want to give either of them hope, but she isn’t ready for whatever this is to end yet either.

 

“Aye, Swan, whatever you like,” he responds earnestly. “I’ll be in most of the day.”

 

Emma takes a deep breath, nodding in acknowledgement, and waits for him to leave. She takes a few steps backwards and leans heavily against her car. She wraps her arms around herself and looks up towards the sky. There isn’t a single star in sight, but she tries to remember their placement above them on the boat. It _had_ been a nice moment while it lasted, at least.

 

Yawning, Emma tugs the door to the car open and climbs inside.

 

-/-

 

There’s something to be said for knowing your partner. Weeks of sleeping with Killian has led her to intimate knowledge of exactly what turns him on the most, and vice versa. Killian puts all of that intimate knowledge to work, finding ways to apologize to her with his body. That spot inside of her that makes her skin tingle and her toes curl, the sounds he can pull from her when he drags his teeth along the column of her throat.

 

He apologizes with his words and, when that doesn’t quite solve things, he finds other ways of making her forgive him.

 

Over their next few meetups, Emma does forgive him. As much as she’s capable of bestowing forgiveness nowadays, anyway. He doesn’t really try for anymore surprise romantic excursions, but sometimes he orders them food and it’s not _completely_ about the sex. Which is, Emma will begrudgingly admit, really nice.

 

One night had turned to temporary which is quickly becoming months and Emma occasionally thinks about it and maybe panics a bit. She keeps showing up at his doorstep anyway, continues to flirt with him as she pours his rum at the bar. He disappears around Christmas and Emma would think that this was it, that he’s gone and it’s okay. She’s survived worse. Except, he leaves her an envelope at the bar with vague wording about obligations for the holidays. Emma doesn’t really care for the holidays anyway, she’s hardly heartbroken.

 

He comes back looking a little more haunted than usual, kissing her a little rougher than he typically tends to. Killian realizes it quickly, apologizing against her skin as he trails soft kisses across her jaw. Emma isn’t worried about it, doesn’t ask because she’s not interested in knowing.

 

Eventually, unprompted, he tells her of the heartbreak that left him in the state she’s found him in. The older woman who could never leave her marriage for him. He shrugs when he mentions the wrongness of the infidelity, like he knows it’s wrong, but isn’t particularly bothered anyway. Emma doesn’t know quite how to feel about that, decides to ignore it instead.

 

“Her name is Milah,” he’d said reverently, like the name itself holds power. Emma had tilted her head and considered him, trying to imagine this woman he loves. There’s no delusion, she thinks, between either of them that he still loves her. Heartbreak and all, he still loves her. Emma takes a strange kind of comfort in it, knows he can’t come to love Emma the same way while he says another woman’s name like that.

 

She’s a little drunk from the cheap rum he’d picked up to go with their pizza one night. He kisses down her stomach while she groans about eating too much and squirms against the heat his ministrations are creating between her thighs. Killian stalls near her belly button and Emma glances down at the sudden pause. She knows it’s not the first time he’s seen the stretch marks, but it’s the first time he’s gotten the courage up to ask about them.

 

“I was pregnant,” Emma admits, shrugging like it’s nothing and avoiding his eye. She gives him the abridged version of her own heartbreak. Left behind, jail, surprise kid. She tells him how the prison had helped her find an adopter for the kid. Killian’s kisses are a little softer, packed with a little more meaning, afterwards.

 

“I hate myself for making you feel like I would do that to you,” he says quietly, from the juncture of her thighs. Emma jerks against him as his tongue laves quickly over her clit. She doesn’t respond, though she thinks maybe he’s got more than enough reasons to hate himself already.

 

Feeling raw from her admission, Emma catches his hands later the same night. Tugging the left one up towards her chest. Killian watches the movement carefully and she can see the emotion flicker in his eyes. She releases his right hand to cradle the scarred one between her own. They’ve faded, even just in the months she’s known him, and she figures in a few years the reminder will be gone.

 

“What happened?” She asks quietly, eyes on his face rather than the hand in between hers. Killian shifts a little uncomfortably and Emma thinks for a moment he might deny her an answer. Instead he presses closer to her, forehead ducking to press against her bare shoulder.

 

He tells her the story in the same detached tone with which she’d talked about Neal. A few years ago, he and his older brother had been in a car accident. Killian had been driving and, legally, it wasn’t his fault. Emma knows that doesn’t remove the burden from his shoulders. She lifts his hand to press it softly to her lips as he describes the many surgeries and months of physical therapy. She kisses his forehead, face still hidden against her skin, when he explains his brother had been dead before the ambulance had even shown up.

 

“Not a jolly tale, I’m afraid,” he comments, attempting for levity but his voice is rough and Emma can feel the wetness of tears pressed into her shoulder. Emma sighs and leans back into the stiff motel pillows.

 

God, they’re both too young to be this raw.

 

-/-

 

An apartment opens up in the building she’d been eyeing and Emma is one paycheck away from being comfortable enough financially to put down the deposit. She’ll have more than a few months rent saved up. She’ll have to start budgeting for groceries that aren’t things she can store in her car and utilities so she can stop using public showers. It’ll be the first home that’s ever been _hers_ , though and that feels like an important thing to keep in mind.

 

She doesn’t tell Killian about it. They haven’t ever really discussed her living situation, but she also thinks he’s inferred it. The Bug is a permanent fixture outside the bar and she’s never invited him to her place. Regardless, she’s glad he’s never mentioned it or tried to play some fucking savior bullshit and get her to move into the motel.

 

Emma doesn’t mind splurging on the cheapest bottle of champagne she can find and heading over to his motel. Killian is surprised at the chipper mood but doesn’t question it beyond her cursory “can’t I be in a good mood?”

 

Apparently the prospect of having a home to call her own makes Emma pretty horny.

 

She’ll be amazed if they don’t get noise complaints from the curses, moans, and terms of endearment she’s pulling out of Killian alone. He drops atop of her at one point, body heavy with unworking limbs and sticky with sweat.

 

“You’re a bloody force of nature,” he pants and Emma let’s out a breathless laugh. The champagne has only heightened her good mood. She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing his ass and pulling something like a growl out of him. His teeth scrape against her shoulder and Emma pushes him off of her.

 

“You have no idea,” she teases, rolling off of the bed. It takes a second for her to feel steady on her wobbly legs. Killian doesn’t miss this, wiggling his eyebrows at her as his tongue darts across his lips in a move that is downright salacious. “What do you say, Sailor? Think you can get the engine running enough to join me in the shower?”

 

Killian lets out a huff, his forearm coming up to land over his eyes. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you, Swan? Be honest.”

 

“Hey,” Emma shrugs, heading towards the door to the bathroom. “If you don’t think you’re up to it, that’s fine. I’ll just go get all soaped up and get started alone.”

 

Killian lets out a strangled groan and the springs of the bed squeak. Emma makes it to the bathroom door before his arms comes around her waist, pulling a delighted laugh from her. He guides her into the shower and Emma kisses down the ridges of his spine as he adjusts the temperature.

 

“Bloody vixen bent on my damnation,” he grumbles as he turns to catch her mouth under his own. Emma nips at his lip for the descriptor and Killian’s hand slides down her stomach to slip in between her thighs. He strokes his fingers across her, catching on her clit to rub in gentle circles. Emma pants, forehead pressed to his as she moves her hips in an attempt to speed his movements up.

 

Mercifully, he slips two fingers inside of her and Emma has to brace herself against the shower wall as he pumps them in and out of her. He coaxes her towards the edge with gentle words and endearments, the much more vocal of the two. Emma whines when he slows down, teasing her, before pushing his fingers further inside of her, curling them upwards to find the right spot.

 

She breathes his name out like a mantra as she nears the edge. Killian cradles her face with the hand not between her thighs and kisses her as she falls over the edge. She moans into his mouth and braces herself on his shoulders to keep her upright.

 

“You were right about the shower, Swan,” he says once her breathing has returned to normal and her skin is no longer on fire. Her knees are still a little wobbly, but Killian’s arm around her waist helps her keep her balance. “We’re certainly dirty.”

 

Emma groans at the innuendo and nearly shoves him out of the shower.

 

-/-

 

She lounges on his bed, wet hair soaking into the pillows beneath her as Killian lies sideways on the bed. His head rests on her stomach while his legs dangle off the edge. The shitty motel has surprisingly nice robes, though, and Emma is too comfortable and sated to be worried about leaving.

 

“I don’t know what got into you tonight,” Killian starts and Emma cuts him off with a snort at the phrasing.

 

“Besides you, you mean?” She comments. With her eyes closed, she feels him turn his head against her stomach to look at her. Groaning at the turn of his words, Emma has no doubt he’s glaring at her.

 

“ _Before_ me,” he acknowledges. Emma chuckles to herself and Killian turns his whole body to be able to part her robe and drop a kiss onto her stomach. “As I was saying, I don’t know what got you in such a good mood, but I must say tonight was spectacular.”

 

“I’m always spectacular,” Emma points out on a yawn. Killian chuckles.

 

“No arguments here,” he responds. She smirks at the agreement, her fingers finding the top of his head and running through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh at the movements. They stay like that for a while, Emma’s fingers moving through his hair as she drifts towards unconsciousness.

 

“I think I love you, Swan,” he murmurs softly into the quiet of the room, jerking Emma back into alertness. She doesn’t know if maybe he’d thought she’d fallen asleep but she can’t pretend she didn’t hear it. Her breathing picks up in a panic and Killian hisses as her fingers accidentally clench in his hair, tugging it sharply.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes hurriedly, sitting up. The movement forces Killian off of her and into a sitting position as well. She swings her legs off the side of the bed and avoids meeting his gaze. She can feel it on her back but she’s too busy searching for her clothes.

 

“I apologize,” he sighs. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

Emma ignores him, pushing off of the bed when she spots her jeans in the corner. Underwear be damned, she tugs them up her legs under the robe. Killian stands from the bed, coming towards her carefully like she’s a cornered animal. She glances at the walls on either side of her, perhaps she is.

 

“You’re adverseness to hearing it doesn’t make it any less true, I’m afraid,” he says slowly and Emma shakes her head at him. It’s not true, though, he doesn’t love her. She’s not built for love. The minute he decides he loves her, they’re going to burn. Like hell if Emma is sticking around for that car crash.

 

“It’s not true, though,” she insists, stripping out of her robe to pull her bra on. Killian is keeping a careful distance as he follows her on her search for her clothes. “You don’t love me. You just think you do because I’m here.”

 

Killian shakes his head, coming towards her now. The movement blocks Emma from her search for her tank top. Her jacket is thrown across the arm of the chair in the corner, though, and it’s only the chill of spring that keeps her from leaving her shirt behind.

 

“That’s not what this is, Emma,” he insists and she raises her eyebrows at him.

 

“Isn’t it?” She asks. “We’re both just _here_ , right? Because they people we do love didn’t love us enough to stick around. You don’t love me, Killian, you love Milah.”

 

Killian scratches behind his ear, unable to come up with a proper rebuttal for that. Emma sighs and steps around him to dig her tank top out from where it’s been shoved halfway under the bed. They had a good run, she figures. A fitting end to how they began. She tells herself that she’s okay with this.

 

“You’re right,” Killian says quietly. Emma’s chest tightens up at the admission. It’s what she wanted, isn’t it? She doesn’t need him to love her, anyway. “I still love Milah. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

 

She slips the tank top over her head and crosses the room to grab her jacket.

 

“Okay,” she starts slowly. “Maybe you do love me, but not as much as you love her.”

 

Killian doesn’t seem to have a response for that. He drops down onto the bed, placing his head in his hands. Emma swallows thickly at the sight and tugs her jacket on. She zips it up and tucks her still wet hair underneath it to shade the ends from the cold. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say, really, but Emma sticks around for a moment longer. She turns to pull the door open and Killian’s voice stops her.

 

“Perhaps I could,” he tries. She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to block the words away, but can’t seem to get her feet to move. Killian must sense her hesitation because suddenly he is behind her, arms wrapping gently around her middle as he tucks his face into the crook of her shoulder. What a pathetic picture they must make. Her unable to leave and he unable to let her.

 

“You don’t have to go, Emma,” he murmurs. “This doesn’t have to be the end.”

 

“We were always meant to temporary, Killian,” she responds, shaking her head and breaking herself out of his hold. She doesn’t have it in her to look back at him before she pulls the door closed behind her.

 

Emma isn’t good at the whole relationships thing. She’d never been, even before Neal showed up and broke any notions of some sort of fairytale ending. It’s be easy to blame him, but it’s not his fault. It’s Emma. She’s not built to be loved, to be someone worth sticking around for. Her parents hadn’t, none of the families she’d been with had, Neal couldn’t. Killian would only learn that sooner or later.

 

No, she’s not good at relationships. This, though, the running away, she’s very good at that. Self-preservation, she tells herself even as a small voice in the back of her mind whispers coward. She scribbles out a resignation letter on a napkin and leaves it in the back room of the bar for the owner. The yellow Bug is no longer a fixture in the alley next to the bar, the apartment a few streets over goes to someone else. She doesn’t say any goodbyes or leave anything behind. She’s gone like a ghost.

 

Emma hears Boston is beautiful this time of year.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, don't hate me please. <33


End file.
